


waves; come and go, never stay

by joongz



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Ocean, Slice of Life, Swimming, smoking of the weed whoops, sports but it's not like competitive if that makes sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongz/pseuds/joongz
Summary: Wearing the title of failed athlete, San returns to the picturesque neighborhood he grew up in to enroll to community college. As he's figuring out what to do next with life, he deals with the consequences of having left his childhood friends behind after graduation.Seonghwa helps him realize that all he needs to do is forgive himself.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	waves; come and go, never stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Monsieur_Lay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsieur_Lay/gifts).



> hi!!! 
> 
> this is written for [@Monsieur_Lay](https://twitter.com/Monsieur_Lay), who wanted a sanhwa au for the soul. I really hope you enjoy this!!!💛💛💛

The loud and shrill whistle of a teacher escorting young children over the zebra crossing sends an unpleasant reminder down San’s spine. 

The last time he heard that sound was weeks ago, when he stood over the crystal clear and strongly scented waters of a swimming pool; on both sides of him were rows of other swimmers, sport fanatics and supporters cheering up a thunderclap in the swimming hall—under the water they vanished.

With a shake of his head, San grabs the handle of his suitcase. He’s momentarily struck by how tan his skin is, under chlorine filled waters they always look so pale and blue—under the water, a world he grew so used to.

(Now gone, that world.)

San watches the small bus stop with an ache in his heart, it’s been years since he last stood here. The core of the small town looks not that much different than it did when he left to pursue his athlete career: white houses with peeled off paint line the cobblestone streets; in the distance are some smaller skyscrapers attempting to touch the sky; shops upon shops welcome the scarce customers; colorful students linger in front of the community college like disoriented ants; and the hill and sea stand opposite to one another, parting the town into two wildly different worlds.

(Explored, he has those worlds.)

San remembers the days he explored the hill and its abandoned buildings, that forgotten basketball court a sanctuary to him and his teenagehood. He wonders how much of him still exists up there—those graffitis on the wall, his own and his friends’s names etched into it for what they thought would be eternity, forgetting that in time they all grew and forgot.

He wonders how much of it _all_ still exists up there. Maybe the buildings have finally been torn down, maybe the wall has been removed, maybe the basketball court is now a patch of dirty soil… The idea hurts him so he looks away from that green hill, towards the sea.

The ocean looks so painfully blue and inviting, it doesn’t help that it’s summer.

San tightens his grip on his suitcase’s handle. There’s no time to ponder and remember, his friend is waiting. His feet do all the thinking for him, taking him by memory to the ice cream parlor down the cobblestone street.

A smile creeps up on him when he spots the enormous ice cone standing outside, the paint peeling off here too, and one letter missing. It looks exactly the same as in San’s memory: bright yellow seats made of cheap, fake leather around white tables, a small counter with a very limited variety of ice cream flavors. Behind the counter is a large menu card with the prices on it, next to it a door that leads to the backroom and staff toilet.

It’s nothing special, but it’s where San hung out most of his teenage summers with his friends, talking shit about life and the future. _Oh_ , if only young San had known back then how quickly it catches up to one.

He enters the parlor, behind the counter stands Wooyoung, his closest friend. He looks different and, at the same time, exactly the same as back then, when he first got the job at eighteen. His job forces him to wear a horrid looking yellow and white uniform, a matching hat that clashes with the purple of his hair.

“ _Sannie_!” he squeaks in delight, running out from behind the counter to jump into San’s arms. “I’ve missed you!” He buries his head into San’s collarbones.

San nearly falls, finding support on his suitcase.

“Hey,” he breathes out a little caught off guard by this enthusiastic greeting. Surely, he thinks, Wooyoung will resent him, will laugh at him; but he’s as fond of San as ever. “I’ve missed you too.” He hopes it doesn’t come off as cheap, because it’s the truth.

After his failed and ridiculous attempts of chasing success and fame—and running away—he lost sight of what matters the most to him: _this_. His picturesque neighborhood and the people in it, that he left behind. Because he’s lost his self, his purpose and desire, realizing there’s so much more to live than what he’s been chasing.

“How about I make you a banana-strawberry ice cream, like the old times?” Wooyoung asks, grinning, and pulls away.

“I’d love that very much,” San tells him, grabbing the table by the window, where they used to hang out as starving teenagers, searching for the next kick, chasing after dreams. The table obviously has been repainted several times in the past years, their engraved names gone, but when he passes his fingers over it, he believes he can still feel them under his fingertips.

( _San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, Seonghwa_.)

Wooyoung sits down minutes later, putting a bowl of ice cream in front of San. He has one for himself. He smiles jovially, then asks, “So, what brings you back?”

San almost cries with all the answers and excuses and apologies that tumble over his tongue. He sorts through them, remembering his first swimming lesson: part the water with the tips of your hands. He does the same with his entangled thoughts.

“I’ve missed home,” he says, but that’s not all. “Everything was becoming too much. The pressure, the practices, the loneliness… And I realized, especially the past months, that I wasn’t into it anymore.” The words roll off easily, he’s been wanting to confess this, talk to someone about it.

“Into it?” Wooyoung echoes, tilting his head. He has a colorful spoon sticking out of his mouth.

“Swimming. During my last tournament, I couldn’t even get into the water anymore. I’m—scared of it. Scared of swimming. I decided to quit and come back.”

Wooyoung studies him free of judgment. “What now?”

San shrugs. “I enrolled to the community college. I’ll be taking Business.”

Wooyoung’s face lights up. “Oh, you might be in the same group as Seonghwa then. He enrolled for Business too!”

“I thought he was studying Marine Biology,” San says, remembering the last update.

“That was four years ago!” Wooyoung laughs; it stings a bit, that San knows so little about his friends. “He dropped out in his second year,” Wooyoung explains. “He’s been working the past year. I think he’s been feeling a little aimless about life. We encouraged him to take Business so he can take over his dad’s shop one day, since it was his childhood.”

San stills for a brief moment, letting that wave of memories wash over him—from his head to his toes—leaving him drained and with tingles all over, where the waters of the wave are still lingering.

Seonghwa’s father owns a shop of oddities and souvenirs, many of which he has obtained through scuba-diving. It’s from where San learned swimming and his love for it. Since they were toddlers, San and Seonghwa have been lovers of the sea and all the curiosities that hide in it.

“That sounds nice,” San says once the memories are gone. Though, being back in the picturesque neighborhood, he doubts he will be completely left alone by memories, they’re a side effect of it.

“Speaking of, Seonghwa should be here any moment,” Wooyoung reveals, glancing at the parlor’s door. “Yeosang too.”

San has a split second in which he panics.

“I tried to keep it a secret, so that your arrival here wouldn’t be too overwhelming, but they insisted on coming. They’re very excited to see you again, San.”

“It’s okay,” San tells him.

He _does_ want to see them again too, it’s been three years. He’s so eager to see how much they’ve changed, how much they’ve stayed the same. How similar are they all to the names engraved in the table, to the names graffitied on that wall?

He needs to know. Because San feels like he’s changed too much and not enough, and he’s lost, still trying to find the purpose. Are they as lost as him, or have they found out exactly who they are, here, by staying?

(He won’t say it, but he feels jealous of Wooyoung, who doesn’t seem bothered or concerned about the future, who is satisfied to work at the same ice cream parlor still, after so many years. San moved away because he didn’t feel satisfied, he came back because didn’t find satisfaction. Where else is he meant to go, to find it? Is satisfaction still what he chases?)

Customers enter the parlor and Wooyoung shoots out of his seat, greeting them with an easy and practiced smile. He looks so happy as he prepares their cones and coffees to go. San’s fingers curl, and he looks away.

In his lungs, his next breath traps and his heart turns as heavy as led. The weightlessness his body has memorized from swimming overcomes him, and for a moment he’s under water again.

A recurring lesson during his swim training was to hold his breath under water. For days, weeks, months, and years he has practiced the art of submerging his head under the clear blue, but not before a deep intake of air. His body weightless, and he struggles to stay under the rippling waves, but as the air in his lungs runs out it becomes easier and easier for his body to stay under water. Bubbles escape his mouth, that sour and unpleasant taste of chlorine on his tongue, in his nostrils. There’s a moment there, when the air is so scarce that his lungs burn, a tickling sensation spreading out in them that urges him to push his feet against the cyan blue tiles below him and emerge from the waters.

This fire in his lungs, he feels it right now, but it’s connected to so many other sensation he doesn’t feel in the water, when he’s running out of air and needs to get out to survive.

Though, he thinks, this is a little bit like survival too.

Seonghwa stands on the other side of the parlor’s window, staring at San through the crystal. He’s dressed in a pair of black jeans with enough rips and holes to provide him with air, a loose black t-shirt with abstract lines and circles and other geometrical shapes. His hair is curly at the tips, where the sea has marked them, and pitch black, like the ocean under a midnight sky. He’s handsome, as he’s always been, but those awkwardly large lips and his crooked nose, and those thick eyebrows and starry eyes have grown right into their places, no longer appearing out of shape or too prominent. They work in harmony now.

Seonghwa is as stunned as San. He blinks once, twice, thrice, and then breaks out into a grin, laughter spilling out of his lips that San receives muffled only through the window.

The door of the ice cream parlor opens and in spills Yeosang with Seonghwa close behind.

Yeosang has gone through a change himself: his statue-like perfectly shaped face is still so untouchable, but he smiles genuinely when he greets San, not holding back in fear of disfiguring his perfect and uncaring mask. San can now see that Yeosang cares, that warmth he carries inside is reflected on his face.

“San! It’s so, so good to see you!” Yeosang doesn’t jump into his arms like Wooyoung did, but he goes over to him to give him an awkward side hug that lasts for a short moment. San barely has time to react. “You look sharp!”

“Thanks.”

San smiles, overly aware of Seonghwa right there, of the closing distance between them, and he holds his breath as he does before he submerges himself into the waters.

“San,” Seonghwa greets him; the most mellow one of them all, but he’s always been like that.

Seonghwa extends his hand, for San to take—or perhaps it’s a high five? San isn’t too sure, but he extends his own hand and lets the rest be up to Seonghwa. It ends up being an awkward hand shake mixed with a high five that San doesn’t really understand, but he’s enraptured by the softness of Seonghwa’s hands.

“It’s good to see you two,” San says. His fingers curl when his hand is back on the table, he still feels Seonghwa’s warmth on them. “It’s been a long time.”

Yeosang huffs a laugh, sitting down opposite from San. Seonghwa sits down next to San.“Yeah, it has. How have you been? How come you’re back? It was very out of the blue! Wooyoung told us about a week ago.”

The customers leave happily, and Wooyoung joins them, holding an assortment of sodas.

“Let him breathe,” Wooyoung scolds him.

“But I’m curious! It’s been _years_!”

San feels so much dread, and guilt. Yeosang doesn’t seem reproachful or angry at him, he doesn’t even seem to notice San’s apprehension upon these questions and demands and truths. He just seems curious.

“Let him arrive, he can always tell us later,” Seonghwa interrupts their overly eager friend. He shoots San an encouraging smile. “For now, let’s enjoy that we are all back. It’s crazy we’re sitting here.” He laughs then. “I still have that picture saved somewhere, when we came here and Wooyoung hid behind the plant.” He nods at a green plant standing in the corner, over the years it has been moved around.

Yeosang starts laughing. “He looked so awkward in pictures.”

“As if you’re any better, you kept making peaces signs whenever someone pointed a camera at you.”

“It’s a natural response!” Yeosang defends himself. “Everyone does peace signs!”

San sighs in drowning relief.

The tension in his shoulders eases a little as the conversation slowly shifts towards fond memories, and not him and his failures. Seonghwa keeps his eyes on San for a brief moment, crinkled at the corners as they want to tell San something, but he isn’t that well versed in Seonghwa’s language.

And he can’t let past occurrences cloud his judgement and create expectations that might not be there.

The afternoon carries on with playful and easy banter, recalling high school memories, suffering through their old fashion choices and poor haircuts, those first crushes and awkward kisses and hand holding—which Wooyoung suffers through the most, protesting and trying to salvage himself.

Then, Yeosang turns toward San, not with ill intend or knowing San’s inner turmoils, and asks, “Speaking of seven minutes in heaven, remember during graduation, when San decided to one up everyone and kissed Seonghwa in the swimming pool. They held their breath for almost a minute!”

There’s collective laughter, from San too, because he forgot, in all honesty, about that particular memory. He wishes he could conjure it up in his mind, like he wishes with so many other memories, but that’s the tragic thing about his memories, once the moment passes they become unidentifiable pictures and intelligible words in his mind. All he’s left with his a general feeling.

“I forgot about that,” Seonghwa admits. “I was like drunk and high.”

“Me too,” San says, but even as the words leave his mouth he perfectly recreates what he imagines that moment to have been like: Seonghwa with his raven hair floating around his face, his tan skin paler under the water and barely visible as probably no lights were around, his tempting lips a faded red, and his eyes squinted with those long eyelashes framing them. It’s just a memory, but San’s heart stutters.

He knows his young self back then held a stuttering heart too—and burning lungs under the water.

Yeosang’s face dances with a playful grin.

“That reminds me, there’s a beach party soon, we should go,” he says. “Like the old times.”

Wooyoung shrugs, as if to say, ‘Fine with me.’ He looks at San expectantly.

“It’s been a while since I went to a party,” he starts slowly. He thinks back to his dorm room, alone and isolated, hands over his head as he weeped. He’s not sure if he even knows how to be sociable anymore. Nevertheless, he responds with, “But yeah, why not? Count me in.”

Yeosang looks positively happy. “Awesome!” He turns to face Seonghwa. “What about you?”

Seonghwa smiles, his eyes momentarily dancing with San’s, then he says, “Yeah, as San said, why not?”

Yeosang excitedly submerges them into a riveting tale from his work at the veterinary clinic, where he’s been working at for a year now, and San begins to ease into these old-new dynamics.

Just yesterday he was alone in his room, cowering in the corner as he wondered whether his friends would accept him back or resent him for leaving, and now he’s sitting with them in their old ice cream parlor, as if nothing ever changed but everything has.

**~~~**

The beach party isn’t anything big or crowded, just a few friends they know from high school. From the looks of it, it’s an annual event. The host of the party—a very outgoing and little bit crazy guy named Jongho—has put up a makeshift bar counter, disco lights, and a DJ table with large speakers.

It’s close to midnight, when the sun has already set behind the horizon, nothing left of it except darkness, and the sea is as dark as the night sky. If not for the steady come and go of the waves, crashing at the shore, one could have assumed it’s not there.

Dressed now in simple shorts, a thin t-shirt from a local shop, and flip-flops, San walks toward the party, the sand is still warm and dry, drizzling through his toes.

“San!” Seonghwa calls him over from a distance. He’s holding a brown beer bottle.

Much like San, he’s dressed in a very summer-y fashion. A pair of forgotten sunglasses are perched on his head, pushing back some of his black hair. It looks softer now, under the different colors from the disco lights, not with the sea clinging to it.

“Glad you could make it,” Seonghwa continues and squeezes San’s shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” He smiles, glancing around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Wooyoung is trying to bribe the DJ into playing 2000’s classics for old time’s sake,” Seonghwa explains, pointing out a half naked Wooyoung, his swim trunks are a very bright pink. “And Yeosang is mixing himself something at the bar.” He studies San, then adds, “Do you want to get a beer too?”

“No,” San responds immediately. He’s used from all these years of training to abstain from drinking or smoking. He still feels wary about it. “But I’ll get a cola.”

They make their way over to the makeshift counter, where Yeosang is now holding a quite large glass containing a blueish liquid, a pineapple attached to the rim of the glass. He grins at San.

“San! You’re here!”

“I am!” He smiles at Yeosang’s awkward attempt to hug him while he tries not to spill his drink.

“It’s his second one,” Seonghwa whispers, amused.

“Makes sense,” San returns.

After ordering himself a cola, they stand, leaning against the counter, and watch the crowd: Yeosang and Wooyoung are now dancing with some of the other attendees. It looks like fun, but not necessarily something San needs to be part of.

“So, San,” Seonghwa starts, “what was the city like?” he asks. “You’ve barely said anything about it.” He tilts his head to study San.

“Ah. It was hasty and stressful,” San says immediately. “A constant pressure to be _doing_ something productive or successful. Constantly, just doing and doing.”

“That _does_ sound stressful, but it’s the same here I think,” Seonghwa tells him. “Everywhere the pressure to be doing something is present.”

“That may be true, but, I don’t know, it feels differently in the city. At least to me. I’m glad to be here, there’s a different rhythm here. I feel like I can breathe here.”

“What about swimming? It was a surprise. We all read the headline of your uni’s news outlet. You didn’t jump in…” He trails off, noticing San’s stiff shoulders. “Sorry, we don’t have to talk about.”

“It’s okay. I was scared. I just—I couldn’t jump in.”

“But why?”

“I think the pressure of life and swimming suddenly were the same. My life became swimming, and I couldn’t handle it,” he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken about it so honestly to someone. Not even his coach knew the real reasons behind his leaving: he came up with some excuse when he dropped out. Somehow, Seonghwa makes it easier for him to open up.

“That make sense,” Seonghwa tells him. “Do you think you will ever swim again? I thought we could go scuba-diving one of these days… But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

“I—“ The words get stuck in his throat. Memories wash over him of his teenagehood: Seonghwa and him diving around the area, exploring the world under the water, that they both love so much. “I don’t know. I would love to, but I don’t know if I can…”

Seonghwa bumps his shoulder into San’s, smiling at him. “It’s okay. No pressure. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

After a brief silence, Seonghwa produces a rolled joint from the front pocked of his button up and holds it out with a question in his dark eyes. San contemplates it. He’s not tied to his athletic duties anymore, it wouldn’t do harm; and if he’s honest, he could use some of that pleasantly sleepy mind.

He shrugs, still a little unsure, but says, “Sure, why not?”

Seonghwa grins. “Alright. Do you want to light it away from all this noise and crowd?” he asks, jerking his chin at the wide expand of the beach in front of them, where the disco lights don’t reach anymore and the sand looks a dark blue.

They sit in silence for a while, just passing the joint, with only the distant sound of the music, animated chatter, and the waves coming and going accompanying them. It’s peaceful and nostalgic. It brings San back to his teenagehood, although he spent those years on the other side of the town, by that hill, where the sea isn’t present.

(But the sea has always been present in San’s life, he’s grown up with it—and Seonghwa.)

San looks at Seonghwa now, his heart aching too much not to look at him. _His teenagehood_ ; which he spent in so much yearning and wondering.

“What are you thinking about?” Seonghwa asks when he notices San’s eyes on him, returning his gaze.

“I’m sorry for leaving back then and not messaging much,” San confesses, his toes curling in the now cold sand. He keeps his eyes on Seonghwa because even if he’s terrified and unsure what’s reflected in his face—if anything is even reflected at all—he owes Seonghwa this stripped self of his. “I don’t mean that I regret it, leaving I mean. At the time it was what I believed to be the right choice, but now… I just—I’m sorry. I feel terrible about it. I’ve become so unreliable and distant. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Seonghwa is quiet for a moment, just studying San. The rolled joint between his fingers is unlit now, but the sweet scent of the weed still clings in the minimal distance between them, together with the scent of the ocean.

He smiles for San, to let him know there are no hard feelings. “Don’t worry, San. Really. No one here resents you for it. We’re not hurt by you leaving to become a professional swimmer. We always knew, whenever you would come back, that we would see you again. And I mean look at us, here we are, almost as if nothing has changed, even if it has—because _so much has changed_.”

San wants to cry from relief, from guilt. He still feels so guilty about it all.

“I just, I feel so silly, you know? And I feel so bad, like I’ve disappointed you all and let you down, but maybe, to a degree, this is about me too. That I’ve needed you all so much, but I was too proud to… I don’t know. I just couldn’t admit that I really needed you all and I was doing badly without you around.”

He’s never actually considered this, but now that he’s saying it, he sees the truth in it all. That he was self-sabotaging himself, purposefully keeping himself from reaching out because he’s been taught that the most important thing in one’s life is success and to be his own human. But he’s come to realize he’s no human at all if without those he loves.

“It’s okay, San,” Seonghwa says, sensing San’s broken inside. Like the salt of the sea in the air, he can taste the salt of San’s unshed tears. “We’ve missed you a lot, and your absence was very noticeable, but we knew this was very important for you. We all have gone through realizations and mistakes and failures. But we’re all here now, improved I’d like to think.” He smiles. “Who knows what the future holds? But I’m glad everything has brought us _here_. Don’t you think it’s already a great accomplishment for us to sit here and talk like this? So openly and without fearing vulnerability?”

Seonghwa’s smile is now a sad one. He places the joint between his lips, and lights it. He inhales, holding the smoke, before he lets it escape. In the darkness around them, with the smoke, his lips look like rose petals.

“I know that years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to talk like this,” he continues. “I was so angry and frustrated about life and my future, and everyone around me. I might still be a little lost right now… After my dad’s heart attack, a lot of things have changed for me. I would have never thought I would take up Business and think about running his shop, but it doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Yeosang and Wooyoung are around, and now you too. My cats are growing old, and I’m taking care of them, offering them the best life before they leave.”

Just like the waves, coming and going, Seonghwa’s happier smile comes back. His eyes meet San’s. He hands him the joint. San takes it gratefully, he needs something between his fingers to ease a little of that flaring anxiety and all these tumbling, overwhelming feelings that are spilling out of every corner of his soul. Everything he has been locking up the past years.

“Thank you,” San says.

“For what?”

“Just— _this_. All of this, thank you,” he tells him, and turns his head towards Seonghwa. He’s overcome with a strong urge to kiss him. Those feelings he thought were long behind him, he thought he had left behind when he had moved away from the picturesque neighborhood, suddenly flare up deep in him. “It’s been so long since I—“ _Since I talked to someone_ , he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat and instead tears start falling. The realization hurts too damn much.

He knows feeling pity toward himself might not help much; but rather than pity, he thinks, maybe it’s something else. It’s seeing his past self locked in an empty room, and now that he’s _finally outside_ he looks inside, his heart breaking at what he sees, and all he wants to do is reach back into that room and hug that lonely and broken boy.

(Make amends with that kid, forgive that kid.)

Seonghwa’s arm comes around San’s shoulder, and he pulls him closer. San lets himself fall against Seonghwa’s steady and warm body, the sea and the smoke and the sand all cling to him, and it’s undeniably home.

Burying his face into the crook of Seonghwa’s neck, San begins to cry silently, his tears falling freely. It’s not a loud sob, not a violently shaking body, just complete stillness as hot tears slide down his cheeks and he stares at the dark ocean, with Seonghwa’s warm presence.

Seonghwa has his chin resting lightly on the crown of San’s head, his fingers drawing circles into San’s back.

They stay like that until the ocean becomes gray, and San wishes he could surrender himself to those waves. To swim towards the sunrise with Seonghwa, and watch the world become dramatically gorgeous for just a few minutes.

He wonders what it’s like to swim in the sea while the water is pink and orange and yellow; he’s never done that. He supposes it’s something he could look forward to in the future. Because he firmly believes now that he’ll be able to swim again like he used to.

**~~~**

The community college is not that different from the one in the city. It’s smaller and less students linger around, but the construction is fairly similar.When San first crossed its door he couldn’t breathe, feeling as if he was drowning, but then Seonghwa’s shoulder bumped into his, a beautiful smile carved into his face, and San remembered where he was; _when_ he was.

It’s been a month now since he’s started his classes and he’s settled in fairly well. He was already used to the college experience from his years prior, and to the crazy dorm life full of the strangest and most memorable moments. He’s lucky their persistent—and probably annoying—emails to the secretary paid off since he’s rooming with Seonghwa this semester. Hopefully, the following one they’ll be just as lucky and annoying.

San is on his way to his Accounting class—thankfully it’s his last class of the day—which he loathes passionately, but he shares it with Seonghwa, who finds it entertaining, so San can switch off his brain for a while as he pretends to understand what their professor is talking about; Seonghwa will explain it to him later anyway.

Ever since his arrival at the picturesque neighborhood months ago, he’s found a bit of a routine: college, part timing at the ice cream parlor with Wooyoung, visiting his parents on the weekends, jogging with Seonghwa up and down the beach’s boulevard just before the sun rises… It’s been good on his mind and soul; his once horrible isolation is slowly becoming only a faded memory.

“Hey, San?” Seonghwa whispers quietly.

San tenses, warily eyeing their professor. “Yes?”

“I have to collect curiosities after class, do you want to join?”

San hums thoughtfully. _Curiosities_. He remembers a long time ago, marching the shores of the beach during autumn and winter with Seonghwa, like scavengers in search of the rarest treasures the ocean has to offer. They would collect seashells and interesting looking round pebbles; and, of course, the most precious and rarest of them all: pieces of colorful and broken glass that have been molded and rounded, all its sharpest edges gone…

 _Pirates;_ that’s what Seonghwa’s dad used to call them. _The nicest pair of pirates the sea has ever met_.

“Definitely,” San responds in a whisper, offering a tentative smile. It’s been far too long since he’s gone scavenging the shores with Seonghwa.

Seonghwa gives him a thumbs up.

They don’t waste much time once Accounting is over, packing up their materials and leaving them in their dorm room before they head toward the beach, its calling distant and quiet but always present. That come and go of the waves, hushing through the streets, in between the white houses the ocean peaks through, dark now, as the sky is giving way to the stars.

“I almost forgot we searched the beach for curiosities,” San admits, plastic bag stuffed inside the hoodie’s front pocket. “Is your dad feeling better?”

Seonghwa nods. “Yeah. He’s picked up business again. Only doing half time, and he is focusing more on making souvenirs than standing in the store now, but he still pushes himself a lot.”

“If he ever needs help, tell him I’m available and more than happy to help.”

Seonghwa smiles gratefully. “I’ll let him know.”

It was a stormy and cloudy day. Now it has calmed down, but the sea is still loud, the waves crashing strongly at the shores. It smells so impossibly of salt and that specific scent only the ocean holds.

Seonghwa pulls up his phone, using is as flashlight. He marches over to the shore cautiously as he’s avoiding the line of separation between the safety of the light sand and that darker patch, where the waves reach. San follows him warily. He misses the sea, but he’s still scared of it—of swimming. He hates that he’s still scared, but seeing it so stormy just reminds him what an unbending and powerful force it is, and it breaks and shatters something deep within him.

“Look!” Seonghwa calls out, pulling San out of his thoughts. He is pointing at something on the ground. “It’s a tooth!”

Indeed there’s a large and once sharp tooth, before the sea has taken its sharp edges away. San can’t tell what sea creature it once belonged to, but most likely a smaller shark: they roam away from the coast, rarely approaching the beach.

“It’s so rare to find them, my dad will love it!”

Seonghwa picks it up and inspects it before he carefully places it in his bag. He scans the area, across the many pebbles and small shells there’s the occasional sparkle of blue, green, purple from the pieces of broken glass, the sea’s foam bubbling in between it all like veins.

San contemplates taking off his shoes and socks to feel this sand, his feet disappearing underneath it as the waves burry them together with all these treasures.

“There’s so much glass, this was a success,” Seonghwa whispers to himself, picking out the glass carefully. He turns to look at San, who is frozen on the spot, staring at the dark waters. “San? What’s wrong?”

“I want to swim again,” he answers; which isn’t an answer to the question in itself, but Seonghwa knows enough to understand it.Seonghwa stands up, his bag dangling from his wrist, and stares at the ocean as well.

(Briefly, San wonders if the sea was calm, could he see the stars above reflected in it?)

“Why do you want to swim?” Seonghwa asks after a while.

It’s an odd question, San assumes at first, until he realizes he doesn’t know how to answer it.

“You shouldn’t pressure yourself,” Seonghwa continues. 

San tightens his hands, clenching them until his nails dig in the palms of his hands. Seonghwa notices and sighs, moving one of his hands to the center of San’s back, drawing motions—forward and backwards, like the waves, that come and go.

“You have to stop being so harsh with yourself. You don’t deserve it. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re _not doing_ anything wrong,” Seonghwa carries on, each word like a knife carving itself into San’s heart. This kindness is causing so much more pain in him than any damaging words could have. He feels so undeserving of it, therefore it hurts more. “San… I’m very glad you’re back, but I can see you struggling and I want you to know, you can talk to me. And I’m sure Wooyoung and Yeosang would be very understanding, too, if you talked to them…”

“It’s hard,” San finally manages to say. “It’s so very hard to talk about this all. It’s confusing and painful, and I never know where to start.”

“Are you expecting something to happen once you open up? Are you expecting relief or that things will become better?” Seonghwa inquires with a soft tone.

“Well, yeah?” he answers hesitantly.

Seonghwa’s hand stops, he’s just holding San now. His eyes are searching San’s face, dark in the dimness, but there’s warmth in them, and a deep understanding.

“That’s a form of pressure too. You should talk about this just for the sake of _talking about it._ Not because it’s expected of you to feel better afterwards. It’s okay if you’re not okay or happy. Life isn’t about that, not always.”

“I know that…” San says, it sounds a little like a hiss from a caged serpent.

The words are swirling in his mind, in between the lines and the gestures, there’s one thing that stands out to him. The reason why Seonghwa’s kindness and soft spoken words hurt him so much: because San doesn’t think he’s deserving of them. Because he hasn’t forgiven himself; because he has blamed himself for things he shouldn’t have blamed himself for.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to sound like I was scolding you…”

“You didn’t,” San reassures him. “I have been in denial about a lot of things, self-forgiveness is one of them.”

“It’s not easy.”

Seonghwa’s hand is resting on San’s waist now, they’re standing with their shoulders bumping together and watching the dark ocean. Their shoes are getting wet as the waves raise and raise, expanding more and more over the beach, but they don’t move, it’s too much of a precious moment to break it apart.

San visualizes those mistakes he blames himself for, he visualizes the guilt and shame, and that dreadful feeling in him; and he thinks, _I forgive myself._ He visualizes himself in the sea, the only way he knows, and imagines he’s taking a deep breath—starting from his abdomen up to his lungs—before he submerges himself in the water, all noises immediately muffled.

His heart aches with how much he misses it—the world under the waters.

He swallows before he asks, knowing this will change everything for him, “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Can you help me overcome my fear of swimming?”

Seonghwa frowns, tilting his head. “How am I supposed to help you with that?”

“I don’t know… In all honesty, I do feel more courageous when I’m with you, and calmer too,” he explains. “If you don’t want to—If it’s too much of a burden, it’s okay. I’d understand.”

“No, no.” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I was just caught off guard. I’ll help you however I can.”

“You said you sometimes go swimming in the sport hall near campus during the winter… Take me there next time you go. I think it could be a good start.”

Seonghwa hums in agreement. “Gladly.”

“Thank you for helping me.” He takes in a sharp breath. “It really… It means a lot to me.”

Seonghwa bumps his shoulder into San’s, smiling at him. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Stop being cheesy,” San mutters.

“You started it.”

“Let’s go back to collecting curiosities before it gets too dark and too cold,” he mutters under his breath, finally moving.

He feels so much lighter than before.

The sport center is right behind the community college, a nice walk across the campus park, where all the stray cats live. San remembers being a young teenager, thinking he’ll go to the community college, and feeling excited upon the prospect of swimming in the sport hall. It seemed so big and glorious back then; but what had he known about glory at fifteen?

Now, it looks haunted to him. Even from outside, as he approaches the building the swimming hall is in, he can hear the shrill whistle from a trainer. His insides twist and turn, and he momentarily is struck by panic, looming near the entrance motionless.

He shakes himself out of it. _He asked_ Seonghwa to help him, it would be rude not to show up.

Half an hour later San stands by the deep end of the biggest pool, which is void of swimmers now. There’s a group of children gathered by the shallow end, listening to their trainer; and a few scattered adults swimming their lanes, from one end to the other until they’re satisfied, in the neighboring pool. Seonghwa is in the deep end, his arms moving like wings, the water rippling and parting and coming back together around his body.

It’s mesmerizing in a way: he looks so relaxed and right where he belongs. San wants that. He wants to be back in the water, where he belongs. He wants to crawl inside Seonghwa’s heart and know he’ll be safe there.

_He wants._

“If you just stand there, you might as well get me something to drink,” Seonghwa says cheekily.

San snaps out of his trance, and glowers at him. “ _Shut_.”

Seonghwa hums. He eyes San worriedly. “You know, I still don’t know how I’m meant to help you…”

“Just… stay there, and don’t say anything.”

“I’m good at that. Like, at not saying anything,” Seonghwa quips, making a motion over his lips, as if he’s zipping them shut.

“Talking while saying you’re good at not talking just proves you’re not good at _not_ _talking_.” Seonghwa crunches up his nose in confusion. San shakes his head, suppressing a snort, and crouches in front of the pool, watching the unnaturally cyan water, inhaling the chlorine. His heart stutters in yearning, it stutters in panic. How can he miss it so much and fear it just as much?

“Well, you never said _when_ I’m meant to stop talking…” Seonghwa is staring up at him now: the playfulness vanishes from his eyes in an instant. “You don’t have to force yourself. Don’t do this if you’re not ready.”

“I want to.”

“What’s keeping you from going in?”

“I—“ He falters. His heart is beating like crazy. “I just—I feel pressured. I feel like everyone is staring at me, expecting me to be good at it. I mean, I was a professional swimmer, of course I should be good at it…”

“Are you?” Seonghwa asks. “Good at it, I mean.”

San doesn’t know how to answer it.

“Do _you_ think you’re good at it?”

San lowers his eyes, his reflection is distorted in the pool. “I don’t want to _have_ to be good at it. Or bad at it,” he whispers, tears welling up in his eyes. “I just _want to swim_.”

The way he says these words, they echo in his mind with an urgency he’s felt before: all while swimming and surviving for just another day. _I just want to live_ ; _I just want to breathe_.

“Then swim,” Seonghwa tells him. His eyes are deep and rich, and hold a seriousness that makes San shiver. _He cares_ , he realizes. “You don’t have to do anything grand, San. You can just swim from here to the other end of the pool and that’s it. You don’t have to prove anything, or depend your life on the outcome of it. Sometimes you can enjoy things just for the thrill of it.”

More tears are welling up in his eyes, but he wipes them away before they roll down, sniffling. He doesn’t really want to cry at a public swimming pool.

The cyan water, the chlorine smell, the muffled talking of the few people still by the pool, the dampness in the air, it all becomes overwhelming. A voice seems to beckon him from the bottom of the pool. He could jump in, sit at the bottom of the deep end and count the seconds until his lungs burn and demand of him to ascend so he can survive one more day.

He sits at the edge and slowly puts his legs in the pool, the water is colder than he anticipated.

Seonghwa observes him thoughtfully. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s not as bad,” San says.

“But how are you feeling? Are you scared, relieved, neutral…?”

“Neutral. I thought something would happen, but I don’t really feel anything. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

Seonghwa shrugs, it looks strange in the water. Little waves ripple away from him. “It’s a start. We can get you used to the water slowly. There’s no haste.”

“No haste,” he echoes.

“Can I be bold?” Seonghwa suddenly asks.

San shrugs. “Sure.”

“You’re too hard on yourself and expect too much from yourself. It’s unrealistic,” he tells him, not directly looking at San, instead he’s playing with the water. When he does look up, San wants to cry. “You shouldn’t push and punish yourself so much.”

Weakly, he whispers, “I know.”

“Let me be here and remind you of it, yeah? We all need someone to take care of us from time to time.”

San looks at his pale feet submerged under the waters, he moves them, rejoicing in the feeling of the water caressing his skin. “Okay.”

“Are you hungry?” Seonghwa suddenly asks him. “I know this place that has really good pizzas for a fair prize, do you want to go?”

Relieved, San nods. “Why not?”

Seonghwa grins at him, reaching up his arm so that San can help him out of the pool. Seonghwa’s skin is slippery, a strange mix of cold and warm at the same time. His dark hair snakes beautifully around his temples and neck, and San yearns to reach out and trace the droplets that fall from the tips.

_He yearns._

“Thank you for today,” San says as they walk to the locker room.

“Any time, San. I’m just glad I can help.”

**~~~**

It’s a cold March day when San realizes why he loves the sea so much—or maybe, why he loves Seonghwa so much. He’s not sure anymore which one comes first to him: the sea or Seonghwa. In his mind, they melt together just like the sky and the ocean do, no clear distinction where one starts and the other finishes.

Stormy like the sea can be, Seonghwa barges into San’s room, hands clenched furiously. He discards his bag carelessly and lets himself flop down on their desk chair unceremoniously. In each of his movements, his frustration is so visible, like violent waves with the white cusps and loud splashing. Seonghwa is as transparent as the sea.

“What happened?” San asks, looking up from the essay he’s trying to write.

Seonghwa exhales, tipping his head back. He closes his eyes, his lips parted.

San’s heart rattles in his chest, Seonghwa looks so ethereally beautiful it makes his whole self ache. That raven hair unfairly tousled—Seonghwa never cares for his hair, letting it fall however it pleases, and it _never_ looks out of place—and his sharp cheekbones meeting an even sharper jawline. Those red, plump lips so much more tantalizing now than ever.

San forgot how painful yet rewarding it is to be in love with Seonghwa.

“I feel frustrated because—“ He sighs heavily, his eyes opening and finding San’s. “I feel so selfish. I said I would take Business with the prospective of taking over my dad’s shop, but I hate it. I hate it so much. I failed the test and…” He runs an angry hand through his hair, undoing it even more. “My dad didn’t even tell me to do this, but I felt it was my obligation, and I know it has lifted some weight off his shoulders, but now—I’m not so sure anymore. I don’t know if I can do four years of this.”

San is stunned into silence. He thought Seonghwa was sure with his decision, not minding it at all.

“Sorry for rambling.”

“No, it’s fine,” San assures him. “I’m just surprised.”

Seonghwa laughs, it’s hollow and self-deprecating. “So am I. I don’t want to break off another degree. I already broke of Marine Biology.”

“Why did you?”

Seonghwa shrugs. “I’ve always loved the sea, but suddenly I was starting to hate it. Looking back, I was young, and not ready to commit to anything. I guess, I’m still not ready to commit.”

San bites the inside of his cheek. He can’t say he fully relates, he was so ready to commit to swimming, but it broke apart. He does understand the feeling of starting to hate the sea though.

“You’re still young,” he attempts. “You’re twenty-two. By the time you’re done, you will be twenty-six. There will be enough time for you to decide on other things you might want to try out, if you’ll still want to.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just—I don’t know anymore.” His face is suddenly torn and slashed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

San springs out of his seat and rushes over to Seonghwa to hold him. Seonghwa leans forward, pressing his forehead against San’s chest.

“I stopped swimming because I got scared of it. I realized I wasn’t good enough to make it a professional career. The pressure got to me until I no longer could swim. Now, I don’t really know want to make of life either. You’re not alone,” he tells Seonghwa, hoping the words might make him less anxious and lost. “I’m just going with the flow these days, like the currents. It’s hard, part of me wants to run back to the days I swam gloriously, and keep pursuing that, but I know I’ll be unhappy and alone—and I’ll still be scared,” he keeps going. “One of the reasons I came back was because, if I picture myself completely breaking apart, I can’t do so alone. I need you, and Wooyoung and Yeosang. I’ve been running away from so many things, hoping I can live unperceived and detached, but that’s no way of living.” He laughs, a little self-deprecatingly, but he feels relieved upon having admitted this.

Seonghwa sniffles, pulling back from San’s embrace. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles, wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. His cheeks are red from the crying as are his eyes.

San reacts quickly, getting Seonghwa tissues so he can blow his nose.

“I was living in an echo chamber in which the only recipient was me, going back and forth between my own thoughts and beliefs and decisions. Anything that would come from outside made me feel so vulnerable and exposed, I hated it. I felt like a cat, hissing and arching my back in anger.”

Seonghwa holds a strange smile.

“You _are_ like a cat,” he says. His voice is a bit hoarse and still trembling, but he looks better. “Hey, thank you for telling me all of this,” he continues, staring up at San. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

San feels infinitely warm. His skin prickles a bit upon having spilled his secrets like this, but there’s something so warm about being seen and known.

Since his return to the picturesque neighborhood, he has realized how important it is to him to be with other people, specifically _his_ people. His friends. He can push others away however much he likes, it doesn’t change that to be on earth he has to be seen. In his teenagehood, he was just starting to figure out who he was, barely seeing himself, and then he moved away from his friends to a place he was utterly alone, relying on himself only and his abilities.

He’s not used to being seen, and it’s terrifying, but to have Seonghwa see him gives him a certain peace he has never felt. To be seen is to be known, but to be known is to be stripped, and he was never ready for it. He’s still not ready for it, but he realizes there’s never truly a moment to be ready for it. To be known just starts with _being known_.

“Want to go to Ikea?” Seonghwa suddenly asks. “I’m craving hot dogs.”

San laughs. “Yeah, why not?”

Seonghwa rummages through his bag, pulling out a circular, small box. He arches his eyebrows playfully.

“Are you suggesting we go to Ikea _high_?”

“Hell yeah!” Seonghwa exclaims. “It will be such an experience, don’t you think? Getting lost in Ikea, and then eating two or three hot dogs. It’ll be great.”

“Sure.”

An hour later, they find themselves at the doors of Ikea.

Seonghwa is calm, like the sea after a storm. He wears an easy smile, sunglasses perched on his nose because he’s paranoid people will see his red rimmed eyes—from crying and from smoking.

San has checked himself about three times in the mirror, deciding his eyes are not sufficiently red to tell he has smoked. He has also assured Seonghwa of this, but Seonghwa wasn’t convinced, preferring to wear sunglasses just in case.

They maneuver through the living room decorations first, marveling at the little, cozy living room replicas Ikea has created. Seonghwa goes absolutely crazy when they reach the lamp section. He looks up, the whites and soft yellows reflecting in the dark shades of his sunglasses. San wishes he could see these lights reflected in Seonghwa’s eyes, twinkling beautifully.

“ _Whoah_ ,” Seonghwa whispers, switching a particularly fancy and complicated lamp shade on and off. He’s smiling at San. “This is the future.”

San snorts, not being able to hold back his shrieking and freeing laughter. He doubles over, not caring that they’re receiving amused and disapproving glances from other customers.

“Shut up.” He tries to sober up, but when he meets Seonghwa’s eyes, who’s still half smiling, he starts to laugh again. Seonghwa joins him. “Don’t make me laugh, asshole,” he begs. “My cheeks hurt.”

“Sorry.”

San has to practically drag Seonghwa way from the lamps until they reach the bedrooms and children section.

“Remember when we used to cruise Ikea as kids, teenagers?” Seonghwa suddenly brings up, holding a very strange looking plushie: it’s pink, looks slightly like a duck mixed with a giraffe—like the drawing of a three year old child that doesn’t know animals’ anatomy yet. He looks at San. “We used to say that once we live together we would buy shit from Ikea,” he continues thoughtfully. “We’re now living together, and at Ikea…”

“Are you saying we should splurge?”

“Don’t say _splurge_ , it sounds gross. But, yeah, basically…” Seonghwa grins, waving the weird plushy.

“We’re _not_ buying that,” San tells him, eyeing it warily. “We could get a lamp,” he adds when Seonghwa pouts.

Seonghwa discards the creepy plushie and takes hold of San’s wrist. “Back to the future!”

San laughs.

“This one could be attached to my bed, it would help with night readings,” Seonghwa says, holding up a lamp with an impossible name. “But these we could attach to the mirror in the bathroom, the light bulb barely functions in there. We _could_ make it look like a spaceship.”

San groans. “I thought this would be a quick purchase.”

“No, I need to analyze all choices carefully.”

“We’ve been here for _years_. I’m going to die.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Look, there’s an employee there, we can ask him for help.”

“ _Fine_.” San trudges over to the employee, tapping their shoulder.

It’s a short guy with bright red hair, he eyes them quizzically.

“How may I help you?”

“We need a lamp,” Seonghwa says, giggling in delight. San glances around in mild embarrassment.

“A lamp?” the employee repeats, even more quizzical.

“A lamp.”

San eyes the employee worriedly, who returns San’s wide eyed look with a mildly exasperated one. “What kind of lamp?” he asks after some seconds, a smile twitching at his lips.

“A bright one!” Seonghwa tells him. “One you turn on and immediately go— _whoah_.”

San already thinks they’ll be kicked out of Ikea, but the employee hums thoughtfully.

“I think I have the perfect one.” He beckons them to follow.

It feels like hours until they’re finally at the café. Seonghwa’s new lamp is secured in the large blue bag, and they’re getting each a coffee and two hot dogs.The laughing high is long gone, leaving San pleasantly sleepy and hungry—and a tad emotional.

“Do you want to go to the beach after this?”

Seonghwa frowns. “It’ll be so _fucking_ cold.”

“So what? It’s romantic.”

“Romantic?” Seonghwa echoes playfully. “You want to take me to a romantic setting?”

San shrugs. “Why not?” He bites into his hot dog, his taste buds celebrating. “Oh, my God. It’s so good. _Fuck_. This is so crazy.” He eats as if he’s never eaten them before.

“I know, I know,” Seonghwa says, digging it with as much fervent as San. “We need to do this more often.”

“Get high and go to Ikea?”

Seonghwa laughs, shaking his head. “I meant eating hot dogs, but sure, we can come here after smoking.”

San smiles at him. He realizes with a spontaneous suddenness how calm he feels, not as anxious about his undecided future. The continuous routine of classes, and all the little adventures with his friends and Seonghwa have distracted him from the pain he felt a year ago—and without the pressure of swimming to survive, he feels so much lighter.

He can breathe, he _is_ breathing.

When they arrive at the sea, dusk is falling all around them. San is so excited to dip his toes in the cold waters, possibly even go swimming. It’s early spring and the water still holds the coldness of winter in it, but he wants to swim in it. He’s missed it so much.

“It looks beautiful,” he whispers as the scent of the sea encompasses him; the sound of the waves coming and going takes over as the world behind them falls silent.

It’s just them and the sea.

“It’s dark,” Seonghwa says, with a smile in his voice. “You can’t see it.”

San rolls his eyes. “ _Shut_.”

“Are you still scared of it?” Seonghwa asks after a while.

“No,” he replies, finding it to be true. “I can’t wait for warmer days so we can swim regularly.”

Even in the darkness, San catches Seonghwa’s smile, his white teeth bright in the night, like the waning moon above them.

“We’re already here, we could go for a swim now,” Seonghwa suggests. They’re standing in the sand, completely still. “It’ll be freezing,” he continues. “But we used to go swimming in March when we were younger.”

San doesn’t need more convincing, he’s been on board ever since they arrived, even before that. Swimming in the sea during winter months always gives him a rush, something about letting his body go completely relaxed despite the coldness, drawing in long and deep breaths… It’s cleansing.

Seonghwa’s already standing in his boxer shorts, waiting for San.

“Let’s do this,” San whispers, teeth chattering as the breeze swiping up from the ocean hushes over his skin, making all of his hairs stand up.

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa inquires even as they are walking to the shore. “We don’t have to.”

“I’m sure,” San assures him. “I’m not scared anymore.” The icy water washes over his feet, up his ankles. “If I swim now, I’ll never be scared of it again,” he says firmly.

“Why’s that?” Seonghwa asks.

San can’t see him, but he hears the water move around him. He’s a few feet in front of San, already with the water to his waist.

“Because right now I can’t see anything, it’s too dark. I’m jumping into the unknown, which is part of what scared me, what made me stop. This connection between swimming and my life, both scaring me because I didn’t know—didn’t see—where I was heading…”

San is now waist deep in the sea too. It’s freezing cold, his shoulders tense.

“Deep,” Seonghwa says with a breathy laugh.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Without wasting another second, San takes in a deep breath and relaxes his body completely. He holds the breath and jumps forward, into the ocean. Instantly, the coldness seeps through him as if he’s struck by lightning. Everything in him feels alive.

Under the water he’s floating, suspended, existing in a way that isn’t quite possible for humans; he’s flying, he’s soaring. When he comes up, he takes another deep breath and relaxes his body completely, floating on the waves.

Seonghwa is nearby, San can hear his breathing.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Seonghwa is swearing. “It’s colder than I thought.”

San just laughs, swimming over to Seonghwa.

“I may know a way to make you forget about the coldness.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“To make you focus on something else.”

San can’t really distinguish him, but he can hear the playfulness in Seonghwa’s tone.

“Focus on something else?” the older echoes. “What exactly does that entail?”

San smiles. “Close your eyes and submerge yourself, then I’ll show you.”

Seonghwa huffs out a short laugh, undoubtedly already knowing what San’s plan is. He complies because he wants it a much as San.

“Alright.”

Under the waters, they meet.

San reaches out his hands blindly until he holds Seonghwa’s face in them. His eyes opened in a squint he can make out the shape of Seonghwa, blurry and dark against the lights coming from the distant street lamps. The sea around Seonghwa looks like dark fog, indiscernible.

San closes his eyes again and leans forward, kissing Seonghwa softly. Seonghwa’s hands come up to hold on to San’s wrists, and he kisses him back, air escaping them. The kiss tastes mostly like the sea to San; then again, Seonghwa and the sea are much of the same to him. He loves them both ardently.

_He loves._


End file.
